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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27439120">Collimate</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tsume_Yuki/pseuds/Tsume_Yuki'>Tsume_Yuki</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Rigel Black Chronicles - Fandom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Dimension Travel, Female Harry Potter, Gen, Inspired by The Rigel Black Chronicles, Mutually Assured Destruction Keeps Them In Line, Riddle is bitchy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 01:55:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,201</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27439120</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tsume_Yuki/pseuds/Tsume_Yuki</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt - What if Harry was dumped into the canon universe?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>261</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Rigel Black Exchange Round 2, Rigel Black Universe</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Collimate</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/tossedwaves/gifts">tossedwaves</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Only, since this is a gift, I had to have Riddle come along too.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>The whole thing has Severus Snape decidedly… disturbed. Uneasy. A large part of him believes it will not work, that there will be no possible way for the Dark Lord to reach across to another universe and retrieve another form of himself. For a start, he cannot imagine any version of the Dark Lord allowing himself to be removed from his own universe, not even by another version of himself. The man (if he can even be recognised as a man, that is) does not bow to the forces of nature, not to death itself. To bow to the whims of another, regardless of whether or not it is an alternate version of himself… he cannot picture it.</p><p>And yet, another part of him, smaller and far, far quieter than any other, is worried. For if, on the miniscule chance the Dark Lord succeeds in this ridiculous plan, another Dark Lord appears… the world will go to ruin. Albus can only manage to hold off one Dark Lord, a second will be too much. Potter, useless little bastard that he is, will be of no use in handling a second nemesis. There will be no miraculous survival of his death sentence this time, no magical chosen one managing to survive a murder attempt by the skin of his freshly exposed teeth.</p><p>(The old bitterness that it was Potter’s spawn who survived, the runt that is half of that bastard James Potter when it should have been Severus’ child, still lingers in his mouth, sour on his tongue.)</p><p>Standing at the back of the proceedings that are occurring in the centre of the room, Severus thins his lips, watching Bellatrix eagerly spill her blood all too willingly for the mad master they both serve, regardless of whether or not Severus’ servitude is a true reflection of his dedication to the cause. The witch is tainted, had been before her time in Azkaban, and is now mad beyond all reason. Still, the Dark Lord continues to hold her close, to keep her by his side now that he has rescued her from the prison (a break out for which the blame has been laid upon Black’s shoulders, even though the mutt barely has the braincells to rub together in order to produce a semi-coherent thought these days). No doubt the woman is salivating at the idea of a second Dark Lord to set her greedy eyes upon, another body to lavish lascivious dedications on.</p><p>None of the fools he currently surrounds himself with are willing to voice how very bad an idea this could be; he need not even read their minds to know their thoughts, it shows all too well on their faces. Lucius’ skin is a pallor closer to white than his usual pale flush. The Lestrange brothers share a single concerned look. Goyle (who has miraculously managed to comprehend the scope of this action) is nervously eyeing the exit. An understandable desire in truth; any Dark Lord ripped from his own world is going to be most displeased and no doubt they will all make excellent targets. It is for this very reason that Severus is particularly close to the window; half the wizards in here are too stupid to consider it as an exit strategy and he refuses to be killed in a crush for the door.</p><p>Below the balcony he resides upon, the runes that grace the floor glow an ominous purple, bleeding darker and darker as the seconds tick by. Bellatrix’s unhinged laughter echoes through the room, bouncing off all the walls, the pillars and striking each of them with the force of a cutting curse.</p><p>A moment later, the light grows too bright and Severus has to look away.</p><p>When his eyes return to the floor, there are two additional bodies instead of the solo expected arrival.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Already it appears they’re off to a stellar start.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Cautiously, Severus edges closer to the balcony, peering over the edge at the two figures, one noticeably shorter than the other. Both have hair, dark strands cut relatively short. One is an adult, the other a teen. For a half second, he ponders the chances they have collected two Dark Lords through this stupid ritual and his heart sinks in his chest, for that would well and truly kill all chances of the Dark Lord’s defeat. But no, upon closer inspection, the smaller figure appears to be female. Just what in Merlin’s name has happened here?</p><p> </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p>From where she is sprawled out on the ground, Rigel lies still, keeping her muscles tense and reaching out to the rest of the room with her magic. The first thing it comes up against is Riddle and she grimaces, already squarely laying the blame of whatever has occurred upon his shoulders. Undoubtedly it will be his fault; almost everything adverse that has happened to her in the past five years can come to rest solely upon his shoulders.</p><p>No doubt he will be as pleased to find himself in her company as she is to be in his. Okay, perhaps that is an exaggeration. After all, they have something of an accord now, even if it’d been forged under extreme duress and Rigel detests the promises she was forced to make. All for the potential of muggleborns being more accepted in society, for the chance for other halfbloods (for her sister) to go to Hogwarts. For that, well, there’s little she wouldn’t do.</p><p>“Welcome. I am sorry to draw you away from your own noble plights, but I find myself in need of aid no other in this universe can give.” The words are spoken in a high voice (an unnaturally high voice) and they curl around her brain like snakes, sinking in until Rigel can only focus on them. There’s a thrum of magic in the air still, lingering like Fiendfyre. She’s incapable of ignoring it.</p><p>Slowly lifting the lids of her eyes, Rigel peers out towards the direction she’d sensed Riddle. The Leader of the SOW Party has gotten his bearings about himself, rising to his feet to stand in a deceptively relaxed position. Were it not for the sliver of his magic she has nestled in amongst her own (now held captive, forced to do her bidding and capable of being turned upon him, not that Riddle knows this yet), she’d believe him to be unbothered by their current circumstance. However, given Rigel does have that magic, she is painfully aware of the fact that Riddle is just as discombobulated, just as suspicious and tense as Rigel herself is.</p><p>“I find it surprising you would expect aid from those you have displaced,” Riddle replies, smoothing down his robes, which have creased ever so slightly from his abrupt travels. His eyes flickering around the room, assessing, searching, before they land on her. The touch of his mind is ever so slight against her own, nothing more than a glancing stroke that implores her to remain ‘unconscious’.</p><p>Rigel smooths her respiration, draws on the meditations that come so easily now, that she has applied so many times when reaching for her own magic. In the back of her mind, nestled behind the barriers he mans, Dom lazily swats the usual attempted legilimency away with practiced ease. Ever the opportunist. And, well, if Riddle wants to draw potential fire on himself, then who is Rigel to complain? She’ll keep quiet, observe, build her own plan. With this game of one-upmanship she’s stumbled into with the SOW Party Leader, any and every advantage must be ruthlessly taken.</p><p>They have both appeared in a room filled with other bodies after a brief bout unconscious. Rigel does not recall how she arrived here, nor if she and Riddle arrived together or separately. There’s a person, a being, addressing them (more Riddle really) who appears to be the cause of their current situation. There’re runes burnt into the floor, the choking tang of magic thick in the air, lingering in the after effects of whatever ritual has just been performed. There’re plenty of other people out and about too, looming in the shadows and not one of them is anywhere close to their current position. Clearly attempting to keep out of whatever blast zone they’d expected. In fact, there’s only one other figure that’s half as close to Rigel and Riddle as their potential kidnapper is. The magic is wrong (the magic of so many of those around her is wrong but so painfully close too, like a Forgetfulness Potion but someone has substituted the mistletoe berries and she can taste the difference) but, if Rigel had to take a guess, she’d say it’s Bellatrix. A twisted, tainted reflection of her anyway.</p><p>“A risk one must take,” Potential Kidnapper states, stepping closer and his movements are near silent. A quick look through the thin slits of her eyes and Rigel sees pale toes poking out from beneath a tattered dark robe. How uncouth; no one in their right mind would walk around without any shoes on. Riddle clearly agrees; his distaste is palpable. “Though your young friend is quite the surprise arrival.”</p><p>Attention comes to rest heavy on Rigel’s shoulders and she remains relatively still, only allowing the gentle rise and fall of her chest to be noticed, a clear enough sigh that she is ‘asleep’. For all that her magic sings, surges and coils within her, ready to lash-out at the first instance it needs to.</p><p>“My apprentice,” Riddle drawls, stepping closer to her, standing between her and the Quite Possible Kidnapper, a move that she would gnash her teeth at if it weren’t for the whole ‘unconscious play’ she has going on. She can feel the lazy coil of Riddle’s magic stretching out from him, wrapping ever so gently around her wrist, a waiting flare for action that has Rigel forcibly relaxing her muscles, brain ticking over again and again. She’s relatively sure one of the men to the right is Lucius Malfoy, again with that sickening twist to his magic, as if something has infected it, is leeching off it, tying itself to him in a way that perverts the very nature of magic. “And we have far too much on our plate to offer you any aid.”</p><p>“<em>A ssshame,</em>” the Kidnapper, who apparently speaks Parseltongue, hisses and then there’s a bang as his magic collides with Riddle’s, exploding in the centre of the room. The force around her wrist gives a sharp tug and Rigel springs to her feet, coming up from the sharp roll she’d been pulled into to stand back to back with Riddle, her Depasco Shield eating the three curses that had been fired at the SOW Party Leader.</p><p>It leaves a bitter taste in her mouth, to work alongside him like this, but the truth of the matter is, there’s nothing else she can do. They’re in an unknown location with unknown people (who feel like people she should know but aren’t, can’t be) and one of them had been powerful enough to pull not just an unconscious Rigel to their location, but Riddle himself. While she holds a deep distaste for the bastard, it goes without saying he’s one of the strongest wizards walking the earth right now.</p><p>Consequently, it’s rather concerning that he’d been rendered unconscious too, no matter how short a time that’d been.</p><p>The Most Certainly a Kidnapper (who speaks Parseltongue and is in charge of twisted Bellatrix and a twisted Lucius and another who Rigel is desperately forcing herself to not identify) is snarling in a high-pitched, vicious voice that they be subdued only, that no mortal harm come to them, but Rigel is beyond the point of paying attention to that now. She lowers her shield, firing off four stunners in quick succession and three of the four hit their targets with vicious accuracy. It’s the Bellatrix copy that isn’t hit, that dodges with a finesse that clearly dogs the woman’s every footstep even here, in this quite possibly alternate universe. Rigel continues to feed stunners through her wand, even as she directs her magic through the floor, forming claws of the white marble.</p><p>“Bitch!” the woman screeches as she’s caught and promptly stunned.</p><p>The pressure of Riddle’s magic expands in a half-second of warning before the floor is encased in ice, Rigel’s own magic forming skates beneath the soles of her trusty boots and then she’s moving, slipping to a side and no longer needing to cover both herself and Riddle’s back as the others are all encased, trapped in stalagmites of frozen water that glisten in the low lighting. All but the Kidnapper who continues to fling magic at Riddle. Only, it’s all power, no polish. Riddle is making it look laughably easy to duel him and, quite frankly, Rigel reckons she could take him too. Her eyes scan the balconies, aggressively avoiding the left one where a familiar signature (just as tainted, just as defiled) resides among the others.</p><p>“Rigel, an exit,” Riddle commands, going so far as to look away from his duel in order to give her a stern stare and Rigel frowns back, mulish. Nonetheless, she reaches into her bag for a ward disruptor potion, shaped more like the muggle grenades her mother had once described than any standard potion. Optimised for maximum coverage when used; it’s far more effective than trying to strip wards or even temporarily lower them in order to pass. This creates an opening, just for a handful of seconds as the wards scramble to deal with a type of magic they’ve never encountered before.</p><p>Rigel launches the vial, skating over the ice and following its arc through the air. It impacts against the wall with a boom, tearing through the magic that’d encased the room and exposing an unprotected wall that soon falls to the blunt force of Rigel’s own magic. She’s out through the open hole a moment later, followed by a dark, flying blur that soon reveals itself to be Riddle. Because of course he can fly unassisted. Part of her twinges in interest; the rest of her forcibly pushes it down, reminding her there’s an animagus form, a potion and a broom if she wants to go flying and she does not need to learn it. That, if she is so desperate to fly unaided herself, she could probably reverse engineer it.</p><p>“An alternate universe,” Riddle declares, his gaze on the stately manor they have just forcibly vacated, an explosion of furious magic visible through the newly created hole. It lights up the night’s sky in a torrent of red and violets, scraping against the newly reformed wards.</p><p>Rigel rocks back on her heels, frowning hard. An alternate universe is certainly not where she wants to be at present. And with only Riddle for company? Even worse.</p><p>“I assume you will want to find the alternate version of your parents?”</p><p>“You assume correctly, Mr Riddle.” He smiles. It’s not a nice smile, but then again, neither is Rigel’s. At the very least, between the two of them, they should be able to get back to their own dimension relatively quickly. Perhaps even before the winter break is over. Speaking of-</p><p>Rigel allows her magic to wrap her up in a warming charm, transfiguring her thin jumper to a thick, woolly coat. Only then does she begrudgingly take Riddle’s offered arm and allow him to apparate her away from the sight of their kidnapping. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It is a half hour later, when they have been to Potter Place and Grimmauld Place and found both non-existent, that Rigel finds herself sitting in the Leaky Cauldron opposite Tom Marvolo Riddle, the both of them far too highly strung but determinedly pretending everything is fine and that they can deal with this. Tom the barkeep places a meal before both of them, his eyes flickering over Riddle’s face and then her own, as if looking for any shared features. Of course, it probably does look a little strange that they are both here during the Christmas holidays, her an underaged minor and Riddle a distinguished older gentleman who shares nothing but the most common features with her. Given how he’s dressed and pureblood genetics-</p><p>“Rigel is my apprentice,” Riddle states, not once deigning to look at Tom and instead remaining focused upon her, the slightest of frowns to his face. Unspoken is the ‘now leave us in peace’. A half second after it is again just the two of them, silencing wards snap up into place and Riddle plucks up his utensils, twisting the fork once between his fingers before he stabs down at the chicken breast with perhaps a tad more force than necessary.</p><p>Rigel slides a quick glance over the food but, finding it free of any and all possible contaminations, she too picks up her knife and fork.</p><p>“We are in an alternate universe,” she says, cutting a neat slice from her own meat, swiping the forkful through the excess gravy before spearing a carrot and green bean in quick succession. It’s a hearty meal, nothing like the delicacies served up for the pureblood palate at all the galas, but it reminds her of the Phoenix. The very thought warms her breast.</p><p>“One in which the Tom Riddle of this universe did not abandon his plans for delusions of grandeur,” Riddle adds, magic flexing and pouring a helping of wine into his own glass. In response, Rigel charms her glass of milk to remain cool for the duration of their meal. She rather gets the feeling it’s going to be an uncomfortably long one, as any time spent in Riddle’s presence is. “It appears we have another project to work on together, Rigel.”</p><p>He says it as if their current project is one of shared interests, not one that he has cajoled, extorted and downright threatened her into, forcing her to join his cause, albeit temporarily. Admittedly, he’d also had little choice in the whole thing; given she had won the tournament but at the cost of exposing her true identity - a halfblood girl - to Riddle and Riddle alone… well, he could divulge the ruse to the masses, but then it would not only prove purebloods aren’t actually superior, but that he too had been tricked just like everyone else, and that halfbloods can be exceptional. </p><p>But then, hashing out the agreement between the two of them, of who would do what to aid the other and the failsafes they’d installed with one another to ensure they won’t voluntarily go down in a ball of flames in order to ensure the other’s plans went up in smoke - it’d taken nearly an entire day in which Riddle had lied and told the world they were sorting the summer victory tour out. She’s going to be feeling the repercussions of that agreement for years but, the important thing is, so will Riddle. An eye for an eye and all that. </p><p>“The first thing to do will be to orient ourselves with this world,” Riddle concludes, performing some flourish with his wrist that whisks up an obscene amount of gravy onto his latest chunk of chicken. “Clearly, my resources will be more limited than I would care for given Voldemort’s existence and his apparent following. Our lack of citizenship and intent to leave does dictate we can apply less care in regards to what is expected of us, given neither of our reputations will be sullied in the aftermath.”</p><p>“I am not throwing my morals out of the window to get home.”</p><p>“For someone lying to everyone in her social circle, barring the one accomplice she has, I hardly think you have any moral high ground from which to stand and sling accusations, Miss Potter.”</p><p>Rigel grits her teeth at the address, magic lashing out and rumbling the floorboards beneath Riddle’s chair. The unamused expression upon his face, clearly recalling that day of the Triwizard Tournament when she’d managed to get one over on him, does warm her heart though. Riddle pauses, looking at her eyes with a slight frown to his brow and, a moment later, Rigel feels magic to strip a disguise away wash over her form. Her eyes remain the same diluted green as they always are in the holidays.</p><p>“A potion?” Riddle questions almost half-heartedly, gathering up the last of his food onto a final forkful. He’s finished before she has and Rigel had absolutely no problems with making him wait for her to finish.</p><p>“Muggle contacts,” she falsely corrects and Riddle’s sneer is downright dirty when the words register. </p><p>“Gringotts would be a wise place to start, as would the Ministry. No doubt it is as inefficient a centre of bureaucracy as our own. I assume you are capable of handling the goblins?” Yes, Rigel would much prefer the goblins to the Ministry, especially given there’s a chance she could run into her father there.</p><p>“Meet back here in three hours?” Rigel offers primly, directing the last of her meal onto her fork, waiting for Riddle to give some form of agreement. He does so with the barest nod of his head, rising from his feet and stalking off after leaving a few coins upon the table to pay for their fare, as if it’s not the fault of his alternate self that they are both stuck here in this world. Even then, it’s his fault she’s here at all. If he hadn’t forced that splinter of magic under her skin, hadn’t injected it into her own core with the intention of spying on her, then there wouldn’t have been any sort of magical link between them. Instead, Harry would be at home, enjoying her Christmas break with Addy and Archie, with her parents and Sirius and Remus.</p><p>Damn Riddle, he’s always making her life difficult. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Once her glass of milk is empty and her stomach full, Rigel makes her way down Diagon Alley, doing her best not to shift too much under the pressure that sits in the air. It’s an unspoken thing, something coiling with cancerous fear and dejection, for all that the newspapers are trying to make it seem like all is well and good. There’s something rattlingly suspicious about the fact the press is trying to reassure their readers that all is well and good in the world. That in itself is a giant warning sign. For that alone, Rigel almost picks up the paper. But no, she’s on a time limit and she won’t give Riddle more ammunition to use against her should she not make it to the goblins.</p><p>The people that pass her in the street do so with their heads hunkered down and hurried steps. Part of her is sure she’s just seen Hermione scurry by, but Rigel’s in no position to actually check. Plus, who is to say this Hermione actually knows Harriet Potter or Archie Black? Given this world’s Riddle is a Dark Lord who has no issue with attacking someone (even his alternate self, despite his insistence they be captured alive), then there’s every possibility that violence has bubbled over far sooner than it did in their own world with the Quidditch Cup. Countless people could have died and she is trying very hard to not acknowledge the fact those numbers may very well include her own parents.</p><p>Rigel powers up the steps to Gringotts at a steady pace, not allowing any of the wary looks to impede her progress. Gringotts, for a price, will be able to tell her about the Potter family of this world, if it still exists. She hopes it still exists; cracking on with their plans to return to their own world will be terribly difficult without access to any library at all.</p><p>Given Riddle is Riddle, the two of them could probably oust any old pureblood family from their homes, invade their hallowed halls and tear through their libraries, but that doesn’t mean Rigel wants to do that unless there’s no other option. Besides, the Potter family is old, the Black family older still. There’s a good chance any information they need could be found there.</p><p>So Rigel approaches the bank, if not filled to the brim with optimism, then at least not quite pessimistic about her chances.</p><p>What she learns shatters her like glass. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“Even in another world you are breaking the known laws of magic.”</p><p>No matter Riddle’s words, she can see the greedy gleam in his eyes to learn another has been hit by and survived the killing curse. It is not something that has ever been done, not in recorded history. Not in their world at least.</p><p>Here- here the Harry of this land is hailed as the ‘Boy-Who-Lived’, a saviour and a liar all in one. Well, not a liar at all, for both Rigel and Riddle and intimately aware that there is a Dark Lord stalking the shadows. A Dark Lord who has killed the Lily and James Potter of this world. A world where Addy Potter doesn’t exist and Sirius Black went to Azkaban for betraying her parents and has broken out scores of prisoners from the island prison.</p><p>(Only, she doesn’t recall feeling Sirius’ tainted magic among that crowd, hadn’t sensed him at all but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t there. She’d certainly felt Pettigrew’s; it’s a miracle her own magic hadn’t squashed him like a grape.)</p><p>“Given my alternate self wouldn’t be alive if not, then I can’t say I am too upset by it,” Rigel counters, teeth digging into the flesh of her lower lip. And yet, this still does not tell her where she could expect to find her alternate self. With her parents killed as a toddler, Sirius (her godfather) in Azkaban and Remus no doubt deemed an unsuitable guardian due to his condition, that leaves her little to go on in regards to who could have taken Harry Potter in.</p><p>The goblins hadn’t had anything to say on the matter, even when she’d bribed them with coin, so that meant they didn’t know, implying it is no one in the magical world as the guardian would have had to draw money from the vault to allow Harry to purchase him Hogwarts supplies.</p><p>One of the few good things she has discovered about this world; with Riddle running riot as a Dark Lord, politics hadn’t become his main battleground and her beloved school offers education to not just halfbloods, but muggleborns too. The face Riddle had made when she announced that one isn’t something she’ll forget anytime soon.</p><p>Back to the matter of the male Harry Potter who calls this world home though… it’s quite possible he’s with Lily’s sister, their aunt. Petunia, wasn’t it? It’d explain why a guardian never appeared to help Harry with his vaults; Lily had always said her sister was… dismissive of the magical world at best and hateful at worst.</p><p>“As things stand, the location of Harry Potter is unknown, my alternate self is an enemy of the state currently in hiding in order to gather his forces and the both of us have no access to any useful resources through manners acceptable to society.”</p><p>“You could just say we need to get our hands dirty,” Rigel points out, drumming her fingers on the bar top, nodding her thanks to Tom when he places a second glass of milk before her. Riddle’s firewhiskey is already half gone, though he looks none the worst for it.</p><p>(She’s trying hard to ignore the fact she’d chanced a glance down Knockturn and seen it in a truly deplorable state, a state Leo would never let it get into and the only reason it would be in such a state is if he wasn’t there to take care of both it and the rest of the Lower Alleys.) </p><p>“What’s our best play then?” Rigel asks, drumming her fingers atop the surface and conceding the fact that Riddle will undoubtedly know far more about what the purebloods of the world have to offer than she herself does. With Potter Place vanished into the ether and Grimmauld just… not there, her two preferred sources are gone. Given that she’d sensed the Lucius of this world present when they had first been summoned by the reflection of Riddle’s poor life choices, the Malfoy libraries are out of bounds to her too. In truth, she would probably have a better chance at breaking into Hogwarts for their library than she would getting into Malfoy Manor on her own; at least she knows her way around their halls.</p><p>“With the suddenly disappearance of Grimmauld Place, Malfoy Manor would have the greatest collection of books that could potentially solve our current problem.” It goes unspoken that Alternate Riddle (Voldemort, Rigel reminds herself, this is Voldemort) may very well be holed up in the manor house, which means to get inside would not be worth the effort. Unless they do indeed have the books from which they could learn how to return to their world. Voldemort learnt the ritual he used somewhere, after all. </p><p>Sucking in her lower lip, Rigel considers Riddle and watches him eye her in return. Neither of them wish to be the first to expose a new skillset that could potentially aid their quest, but also add ammunition to the other’s current stockpile of ‘things the other is lying about/breaking the law over’.</p><p>A prime example, of course, is her animagus form. Sure, she could very well transform and go watch the manor, check if Voldemort is present. Yet, that would be another thing Riddle could (and undoubtedly would) hold over her head for the next however many months.</p><p>“A day to try our own things,” Riddle decides, draining the last of his whiskey in a manner too refined for the current establishment, a smarmy smile upon his lips that has Rigel frowning in response.</p><p>“Done.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>She cannot trust Riddle, would never dream of it. To trust Riddle is a trap, to let poison in to take its course. But Rigel can trust in his motives in this situation. Above all else, Riddle will want to return to their world. Sure, he would probably not hesitate to drag her through the mud the second it isn’t detrimental to him; Rigel reckons that’s a long time off coming though given how thoroughly he has tied her to his cause. Regardless, at this present moment, their desires align and it is in their best interests to work together on returning home. </p><p>She has to forcibly remind herself of that in the morning when she stands before an empty street where the Potions Guild should be. </p><p>It’s not truly empty, there are a few plaques acknowledging those who died during You-Know-Who’s attack on the place in nineteen-seventy-five, but that’s it. The Potions Guild is gone (Aldermaster Hurst who was only a potioneer at the time is one of the many names on there and it’s before Leo was born; it explains why there is no worthwhile King running the Lower Alleys, if there is anyone actually running it at all right now). </p><p>Rigel finds herself squatting down beside the plaque, reaching out to trace her fingertips over the engraved names, teeth sinking into the flesh of her lower lip in the process. There’s Master Whitaker on here as well; she wonders if Master Thomas’ true name is on there too, not that she’ll recognise it if it is. She’s infinitely glad to live in the reality she does; no Potions Guild, no Lily, no James, no Addy, a world with a Dark Lord… well, admittedly she does have to deal with the arsehole who almost became a Dark Lord but, compared to everything she’s seen here, that’s nothing. Even being able to go to Hogwarts here wouldn’t be enough to make her even consider wanting to remain. </p><p>Scrubbing a hand down the side of her face, Rigel rises to her feet. There’s nothing to be done about it now; she won’t be able to use the Guild’s library to research what has happened to them and, given the bareness of the street, she’s assuming none of the other Guilds survived whatever attack it was that obliterated the Potions Guild. </p><p>She’d seen runes burnt into the floor of the manor they arrived in, but they hadn’t been something Dom recognised, so the entity in her head is going to be of no help here either. That leaves her previous line of thought as the only option; sneaking into the Malfoy manor through abuse of her animagus form, insider knowledge of the layout, and all of the resources she very helpfully keeps in the bag at her hip. Paranoia pays off, something that has never been more evident than the past five years of her life have shown. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>As with everything else she has been exposed to here, Malfoy manor is the same twisted reflection of what she knows; several shades darker, the garden more wilted than she’d believe Narcissa Malfoy would ever allow, and all of the albino peacocks are missing. Given they may very well have Voldemort visiting them (what with alternate-Lucius’ presence at their kidnapping, it’s very likely) at any moment, it’s understandable; Rigel can already imagine what kind of scare tactics the Heir of Slytherin would use (she needs only think of the Diary, of her second year and the unfortunately events of the Third Triwizard Task) to understand the famed birds needed to go. Watching them being devoured by snakes would probably be quite off-putting.</p><p>Circling her wings, Rigel tilts her head to a side, considering the building before her. None of the windows are open, there’s no way for her to slip into the house without having either them or the doors themselves opened. It is with as close to a sigh as she can make that Rigel resigns herself to the fact she’s going to have to transform back in order to create her own opening into the building.</p><p>Overhead, the winter’s sun beats down heavy upon her feathers, the obsidian colouring collecting heat in a way that would make her uncomfortable without the breeze currently dancing across the earth. From her perch in the nearby hedge, Rigel has a perfect seat to watch the Malfoy Lord of this universe (walking gingerly), leave the house alongside his wife, admiring the grounds as they go. She tries not to focus on them too much, tries not to think of the romanticism of walking down the garden before apperating, forces herself to dismiss the familiar features as something foreign.</p><p>These are not the Malfoys she knows. It is with that in mind that Rigel swoops down to the doorstep and comes to a halt, seamlessly transitioning back to her human body in order to open the door. Thankfully it appears that Malfoy magic transcends dimensions as the wards recognise the family magic on her, the open acceptance. That, or the Malfoys here are under the mistaken belief that anyone who actually knows where to find the manor will not be present for ill-conceived crimes. Though, admittedly, Rigel highly doubts wishing to look through their library with the intention of never removing a book from the room counts as a crime. Slipping in through the back door, she makes her way down the corridor, muffling her footsteps with a quick wave of her wand. The acceptance of the wards family magics are a relief; it means the house-elves won’t be alerted to her presence, much the same as family coming and going within the walls. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The library is in the same place as her world, the shelves as neatly organised and flawless of any potential dust that could contaminate the older tomes as she would expect. Rigel steps inside slowly, fingers tracing the near most bookshelf, the tip of her potions-regulated trimmed nails catching over the spines that line the oak platform. The chairs within the room are unfamiliar and Rigel uses that fact to ground herself. It’s a physical reminder that, for all this house is familiar, it is not the place she has once felt safe. She makes her way over to the furniture slowly, inspecting the silver sheen to the fabric with a frown. It’s too… bright to have been Narcissa’ choice, or so Rigel would like to believe. While silver and gold are acceptable metals for purebloods to use, the vast majority prescribe to the concept that using the two colours within furnishing fabrics is just tacky. Rigel doesn’t particularly care either way, but the very sight of it is still like a punch to the gut.</p><p>Opting to ignore it, she turns to the bookshelves, scanning the books that are on offer, eyes flickering from title to title as she looks for one that hints it will be even slightly helpful. It would appear that it is going to be a long few hours. Why is she not surprised? Nothing about this world has been easy.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Time passes, documented only by the sunlight that continues to crawl progressively across the floor, stretching as far into Malfoy territory as it can through the high windows on the eastern wall. Rigel does her best to ignore the time pressures; her magic is already filling both this room and the hallway in a fine film, invisible to the eye and undetectable to anyone who isn’t particularly magically sensitive. It is, however, enough to warn her of any approaching bodies and that will have to do.</p><p>Swallowing around the dry lump in her throat, Rigel resigns herself to finishing off this tome and then scarpering; there’s little to nothing in the Malfoy library on dimension travel, not that it comes as a total surprise. Prior to this experience, she’d never have even considered it a possibility herself. Not until she was trapped in another world with Tom Riddle anyway. The sooner she can get back, the better. For everyone’s state of minds.</p><p>Setting the book aside on the chair arm for a moment, Rigel digs through her potions bag, retrieving one of the many flasks of water that’ve been stored inside ever since her Third Year. The cap pops open with ease and Rigel downs the liquid inside, chewing on her bottom lip once she’s finished quenching her thirst.</p><p>Potter Place and Grimmauld Place don’t appear to exist within this universe, the Malfoy library has been largely useless given it holds only the smallest hint towards mention of alternate dimensions. And yet, where does that leave her? The Potion Guild is destroyed, Leo has never been born, her only friend left—</p><p>Rigel snaps the book shut, sending it back to its place on the shelf with a casual wave of her hand as she makes for the fireplace. Above the marblework, the Malfoy family tree resides in a charmed frame, capable of scrolling back through the ages, of flicking through the closest living relatives by blood, but Rigel doesn’t need the ages, she just needs the present. The present where a Draco Malfoy resides beneath the union of Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Black, while following along Narcissa’s line leads her to just Bellatrix and… and nothing.</p><p>Bellatrix is married, but there’s no offspring. No Caelum.</p><p>For Merlin’s sake. No Potter or Black household, her alternate self is getting dragged through the mud by the government and there’s no Leo or Caelum to hunt down for help. The only person who knows she’s here is Riddle and, though they are begrudgingly working together, that doesn’t detract away from the fact they’ll both actively seek to destroy the other the moment either believes they can do so without causing any form of self harm to their physical selves or to their reputation. Well, destroy is perhaps too harsh a word. More like severely impede each other.</p><p>“Wha-”</p><p>Rigel snaps to attention, magic forcibly hauling the disturbance into the room and slamming the door shut behind them. It only takes a moment to register the white-blonde hair as a Malfoy feature and the young frame as belonging to this world’s Draco Malfoy. No wonder her magic hadn’t warned her; Draco is supposed to be safe and, unlike his father, his magic hasn’t been tainted by Voldemort’s. He also, Rigel notes with a frown, looks significantly less fit than her own version of the Malfoy heir. She can probably run rings around this one, that’s for sure.</p><p>The problem is, what does she do with this one? She’s never had to perform the memory charm before and, in truth, does it really matter if she does? She’s got the cloak on her to hide if needs must, but she doubts the Voldemort of this world will catch them if he hasn’t already managed to do so. Neither she nor Riddle have been particularly inconspicuous in making their base-camp at the Leaky Cauldron but no one has come through trying to kidnap them in broad daylight.</p><p>Admittedly, that might be because this version of Riddle’s megalomania is trying to remain inconspicuous given the trashing her alternate self is getting for trying to warn people about Voldemort. And Rigel knows that Riddle is as likely to go quietly as she is, which is to say, not quietly at all.</p><p>So no, she doesn’t need to obliviate the memory of her visit to the Malfoys from Draco’s mind. Admittedly, she should most probably have checked that Draco wasn’t actually home but, given Lucius and Narcissa had both left, she’d assumed he was out at a friend’s house. For a moment, Rigel toys with the idea of interrogating Draco, even if it leaves a sense of discomfort in her stomach. She’s quick to strike it from her mind though; the Lucius of her own dimension has never discussed plans with Draco, even when they would impact upon his schooling (see First Year, Second Year and Fourth Year). The chances of Alternate Lucius sharing Voldemort’s grand plans with a child who has not even attained his NEWTs yet is an unrealistic expectation at best.</p><p>“How dare you! Release me!” Alternate Draco reaches for his wand and Rigel lazily summons it with one hand, twirling the hawthorn around her fingers. Huh, exactly the same as her Draco’s. Does this mean alternate Harry has the same wand as she does? Does Voldemort have the same wand as Riddle?</p><p>Rigel hums, tapping the wand against her thigh as she considers her next move. Dartmoor Castle is out without Caelum to let her through the blood wards. Hell, even if Caelum existed in this universe, they wouldn’t have the same companionship as they did in her own world. In the same vein, there’s no Leo to ask all these magic related questions, or his little spy-network to reach out to the rest of the occupants of the Alleys and beyond for an answer.</p><p>“My father will hear about this!”</p><p>“And what will he do?” Rigel asks, cocking her head to a side and watching Draco’s cheeks grow progressively redder. He splutters in response to her question, scrambling for something to say and Rigel finds herself so very… disappointed. There’s more and more mounting evidence that her own universe is the superior one when compared against the one she has been forcibly pulled to. Is this what becomes of her best friend when there’s no rules against muggleborns, or is it because there is no Harry Potter in disguise to befriend? Regardless, all the differences and problems of this place can be laid squarely at the feet of this dimension’s Riddle.</p><p>What a let down this whole sneaking into Malfoy Manor has been.</p><p>Without another word, Rigel leaves Draco stuck in the chair, his wand on the desk and just out of his reach. He’ll need to wait until his parents get home to free him, but Rigel plans to be long gone by then. She needs to meet up with Riddle soon anyway. With any luck, he’ll have been a tad more successful than her, though it grates to hope as much. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“I have a solution.”</p><p>There’d been a stilted silence between the two of them arriving at the same table after ordering their meals. While Rigel had placed her own enchantments upon the table in order to prevent eavesdropping and other unsavoury actions that may or may not lead to more problems than she currently has upon her plate, she doesn’t doubt Riddle has swathed the table in his own charms and curses in order to prevent any unwanted surprises. The feel of his magic crawling up her skin is enough to aggravate, an unwanted reminder of the sliver of his magic that is still somewhat entangled within hers, despite Dom’s consumption of it back in the Triwizard Tournament.</p><p>Now, they both sit over their half-eaten meals, eyeing one another suspiciously despite the fact Riddle has just claimed he has solved their current problem. Given the fact he hasn’t presented her with a tome or other written report, she assumes his solution has come from a physical being. She wonders who Riddle has left for dead to be that confident in their ability to utilise this solution of his. Afterall, she knows the man sitting across from her has seen the impact of both his teenaged megalomania and the restrained chaos his adult-self can bring upon the world of politics. There’s a ruthlessness to him that means little will stand in the way of his ultimate goals; she knows, Rigel has been the one standing there these past few months. Unstoppable force and immovable object indeed.</p><p>Nonetheless, it is perhaps in her best interest to not poke too hard at this; Riddle cannot afford to leave her in this world given how thoroughly he has tied her to his own cause, and Rigel cannot afford to risk being left by him by causing a commotion. It chaffs, certainly. Given the fact she has every intention of opposing him, it feels like she should be demanding to know what Riddle has done on sheer principle alone but she pitilessly squashed the Archie-like voice in her head that calls for answers. While it would be nice to find out just how much damage the other across from her has caused, Rigel needs to prioritise. Returning to her home world is the most important thing right now. She will never be returning here so, unless whatever Riddle has done is going to impact her between this moment in time and the time it takes for them to return to their world, there is no point.</p><p>No matter how much she wants to stand against it on principle.</p><p>“The Department of Mysteries here have been conducting rituals to contact other worlds,” Riddle drawls, cutting neatly into the lamb shank upon his plate, the silver of his cufflinks catching the soft glare of the warm candlelight and turning it into something harsher, colder. “We will, of course, destroy all of their research prior to leaving; I have already seen to the memory modifications of those necessary and I hardly doubt that <em>Voldemort,</em>” Riddle hisses the word with a potent fury, dropping into Parseltongue with the palpable rage he reels in just as quickly, “will be trying that again.” </p><p>It goes unsaid that the escape of his alternate self and ‘apprentice’ would taint his reputation among the cult. And that’s what it is, a cult. She’d thought the devotion of some of the SOW Party members (Bellatrix, to present the prosecution’s exhibit A) had been bad but that was nothing compared to those here who would allow Voldemort to stain their very magic as he has.</p><p>“We’re going into the Department of Mysteries?” Rigel asks, slipping the last of her carrots between her lips, chewing thoughtfully. The only time she’d ever dealt with the ‘Spooks’, as Sirius’ cousin Tonks has called them, in person was in regards to the Time-Turner. All other communications with them, (well, with Harriet Potter in truth) was by letter in reference to her shaped imbuing method, a technique that they still had yet to recreate. Rigel isn’t too sure how she feels to know the only ones who are capable of her technique (outside herself, that is) are Professor Snape and Caelum Lestrange.</p><p>“We will have to use the elevators to arrive at the correct floor but, as things stand, the Ministry of Magic here is riddled with a variety of security holes that we may exploit in order to arrive unnoticed at the correct floor. As the Wizengamot, and indeed the vast majority of the Ministry, only opens before nine for exceptional circumstances, our best time of entrance would perhaps be prior to eight o’clock. The simplest deception is the easiest; a Wizengamot member showcasing the Ministry to their eager apprentice would be our best cover.” Something that has absolutely nothing to do with the fact Riddle is trying to reel her into the SOW Party much as he did Professor Snape.</p><p>Rigel offers him a bland smile that Riddle returns with one of his own, the same cutting edge of a knife to the tilt of his lips as her own no doubt carry.</p><p>At least they are on the same page. It is a good thing she’s used to the early mornings to get out to the Lower Alleys for her potions class now; no doubt waking up in the middle of the winter holidays would be a difficult ask for half her peers. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The twenty-fourth of December sees the sun dawning late to a light morning mist that hangs over Diagon Alley, saturated with the ambivalent magic of the street. Rigel, in a pair of post robes she had hastily bought yesterday upon the certification of their latest plan, walks alongside Riddle and tries not to stuff her hands into her pocket in a clear sign of her disinterest. In comparison, Riddle looks to be in his element; the politician striving to his headquarters, prim and poised to such an extent that no one would ever question his place among the Lords and Ladies in attendance. From the look of it, he even appears to have found the time to acquire tailored robes too. Either that, or Riddle is handier with a needle and thread than he’d ever be willing to admit. The very thought of Riddle hunched over in a chair sewing, no matter how absurd, is enough to bring a small smile to Rigel’s lips as she trails after him.</p><p>The public entrance to the Ministry is in the exact same position as it is within their own world, with even the same codes to enter. The charmed slot beside the door spits out two name-tags for the both of them and Rigel is astonished to realise Riddle has even had the gall to use his real name and position. She’s not surprised in the least to look upon her own and see ‘Rigel Black’ printed in neat, uniform letters, along with ‘apprentice’ beneath it.</p><p>“<em>What are we looking for when we arrive?</em>” Rigel asks in Parseltongue, matching her steps to Riddle so as to draw less attention. After all, people are known to fall into step with one another when they are cordial with one another. Rigel is a good enough actor to present the idea that she is here willingly with Riddle, just as Riddle is a good enough actor himself to pretend that she is indeed his apprentice and not the teenaged brat who has been foiling his plans (though less than half of them have been foiled with the specific intent to cause him political damage) for four years now. Together, they can present a good enough front to ensure those who look at them do not instantly think that one of them would take the first opportunity to fuck up the other’s life if they thought they could get away with it unharmed.</p><p>“<em>A ssseries of purple notebooksss, leatherbound and ssstored within Augussst Rookwood’sss desssk,</em>” Riddle responds, his lips barely moving in the slightest as he bypasses the wand registration desk, waving a clearly falsified Wizengamot identification paper at the tired wizard manning the desk. The man waves them through with little thought and that’s the first moment they realise something isn’t quite right. That kind of attitude only comes after several repetitions of the same situation in a short space of time. Given they have arrived before most Wizengamot members even leave their breakfast tables, that in itself is worrying.</p><p>“<em>Hindered yet again by more Minissstry incompetenccce,</em>” Riddle hisses a tad too loudly, startling the old woman that was walking a foot or so in front of them. In fact, now that Rigel looks, though there are only a handful of them mulling about, the witches and wizards that are present all wear some form of Wizengamot identification badge. What are the chances that today is one of the handful of days within a decade that Wizengamot members are called into the Ministry before nine on Christmas Eve? Perhaps they have realised their resident Dark Lord is back, despite what is being presented to the populous in the newspapers? Regardless of the cause, this does mean that their flight to the Department of Mysteries may be a little more difficult than predicted.</p><p>Yet, despite this irritating set back, Riddle strides forwards through the crowds, not towards the elevators as she had expected of him, but to the uniform line of adjacent fireplaces instead. And then, low and behold, Riddle actually does begin to give her a tour of the place, explain the intricacies of the magic that hold the corridor of fireplaces together and all for multiple floos to occur without accident. She can see the moment the handful of Wizengamot members who were eavesdropping lose interest, stumbling away to the elevators and leaving Rigel and Riddle on their own within the corridor of black marble. The gaudy statue is even the same in this dimension, gold and every bit as awful as the one back home.</p><p>As always, Riddle has something to say on this too, bypassing the structure to reach the elevators but, as soon as they are within, he stops the charade with nary a word. Rigel is hardly in any sort of mood to attempt to carry a conversation, especially given her present company, so they descend to the correct floor in silence.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The silence continues on their walk to the correct office, the correct desk, the correct books. It is only when they discover the journals are blood-locked that Riddle lets a vicious tirade of curses slip, utterly ruining Rookwood’s office and the chances of any other Unspeakable using it in the near future. Or distant future.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“Where is Rookwood now?” Rigel asks, drumming her fingers against the table top as she accepts the mulled wine from Tom the barkeep, swirling the glass and then sipping the festive treat. She hadn’t realised until they had walked into Ministry that this world was actually a week further into the year than their own. The fact Christmas is but twelve hours away here is disturbing and Rigel is trying her best to not acknowledge the fact she is, yet again, being screwed over by time magic because this isn’t time magic. They are in another dimension that is a week ahead but the thought of losing a week of time to something outside her control is making her palms sweat and the smell of Pettigrew’s tomb is making her nauseous.</p><p>“Saint Mungo’s,” Riddle admitted without an ounce of shame, already on his second glass of mulled wine and looking particularly unimpressed with everything that he has been presented with today. In order to retain the pretence for anyone and everyone that had seen them within the Ministry, Riddle had taken her to all the different floors within the building, explaining their purpose and perhaps just a bit too much about the magic involved to make her feel comfortable knowing he has that knowledge. Only after they had visited (and snooped, Rigel is willing to admit) every department there was to offer had they left. Now, with the winter sun setting, they are both once again at the Leaky Cauldron in far more comfortable clothes and mulling over their current fortunes.</p><p>“Which is closed to visitations on Christmas Eve,” Rigel recalls with a frown, sipping at her drink with a frown on her face, watching Riddle’s eyes sharpen.</p><p>“Excuse me?”</p><p>“Saint Mungo’s closes to visitors on Christmas Eve so that as many staff as feasibly possible can have some time at home, as most visitors wish to arrive on Christmas Day or Boxing Day. It was a policy introduced in the twenties for the wellbeing of the healers and no one has seen fit to change it since.” She’s well aware of that; Archie had gone on a whole spiral about it when they’d been ten and James had ended up in the hospital over the Christmas Period due to a particularly difficult Auror raid.</p><p>“So we will have to visit Augustus tomorrow,” Riddle concludes with a hard stare.</p><p>“Tomorrow.” </p><p>Spending the day with Riddle sneaking into Saint Mungo’s to see one of his alternate self’s minions laid low by Riddle himself. It is about as far away as she wants to be spending her Christmas period as is magically possible. </p><p>And to think, she’d had every intention of spending today in her own timeline working on Krait’s next batch of potions. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>They apparate to Saint Mungo’s; it’s easier than trooping in through the visitor’s entrance where a whole bundle of families are all wishing to visit their loved ones. The disconnected sneer that Riddle pulls upon seeing a stressed looking crowd of red-heads pile down a corridor in the distance tells Rigel more than enough of how her fellow Parselmouth views this holiday, not that she’d ever been under the impression that Riddle had favourable opinions of the Christmas period. Not unless he could exploit the favourable opinion of others, that is, what with his fundraisers and galas and all the other politics he shoves his scheming self into.</p><p>“<em>It would perhapsss be bessst if we were to ssseparate; lessssss sssussspiccciousss that way</em>,” Riddle hisses, the palm of his hand on her shoulder and Rigel is sure that, to the rest of the world, they must undoubtedly appear like a mentor and apprentice. Or worse, like family. The thought is discomforting, despite the fact there are enough facial similarities between them for that to potentially be the case given the idiocy that is pureblood genetics. They are both dark of hair, both have unusually striking eyes, both pale and with an imposing weight to the magic that swirls around them. They are, Rigel supposes, distantly family in the same way all pureblood families are tied to one another.</p><p>But that particular train of thought is not one she wishes to stick to for long. Instead, she focuses upon Riddle’s words, well aware of the unspoken context. He doesn’t want her following him because anything she sees could be used as ammunition against him when they return home. This whole adventure has been a disaster given it’s Voldemort who has kidnapped them, one who has openly admitted to being the same person as Riddle himself, just from a different universe. Unfortunately, being a Dark Lord in an alternate universe is not a crime one can be punished for. Even if you could, Rigel doesn’t doubt Riddle would have some way of wriggling out of it, just as he can should she try to expose him as a halfblood.</p><p>She doesn’t allow any of this to show on her face though, instead just smiling at the man.</p><p>“<em>Of courssse. You will be able to find me onccce you’re done.</em>” Though it is one of her winter goals to finally separate that bit of magic off from the rest of her own or, to just cut off its connection to the core of Riddle’s magic so that he can no longer track her with it.</p><p>Riddle hums, offering her no further acknowledgement as he turns on his heels and heads for the stairs at the end of the corridor, leaving Rigel standing in the same place with nothing more to do other than wait. Chewing on her lower lip, she lets her eyes scan around the place, heart already aching with the knowledge she won’t see the alternate Sirius here at some hour of the day, overburdened with presents to give the sick children still locked in the hospital.</p><p>She starts walking, trusty boots clicking along the tiled floors as the yuletide trimmings direct her down the main pathway to the wards. There are a handful of people waiting outside wards filled to maximum capacity and she spots a pair wearing a bubblehead charm, sitting by a guy that is billowing with smoke every time he opens his mouth. That’s an interesting problem, one Archie would probably take great joy in studying but it’s not like her cousin is here in this strange dimension to join her in examining the patient. Rigel forces herself to walk past, to continue going even as her magic reaches out and gently examines all on its own. The man will be fine; it’s nothing more than a viral infection of the lungs, one easily flushed out with the proper application of magic.</p><p>Turning the corner, Rigel slows to a stop when she looks into one room and sees the Weasley family crowded around a bed. There’s Mrs Weasley, Fred and George, Ron and Ginny too. Oh, there’s Will the Curse Breaker too. Only, is he actually Will the Curse Breaker here if there’s no Leo? More importantly though, who are they visiting?</p><p>Rigel makes her way forwards, sticking to the shadows of the hallway as she peers into the room, heart sinking a little when she realises it is Mr Weasley lying within the bed. He looks terrible, head wrapped up in thick bandages and, for all the good cheer he’s showcasing his family, it’s clear he’s exhausted. This dimension is a terrible place, Rigel has already realised that. But, to see the parent of her friends laid so low makes her ache.</p><p>“Come on, Harry. Let’s give them some time.” The voice has Rigel stiffening for but a moment. It’s Hermione but not the Hermione she knows so it doesn’t matter that she’s about to be caught as Rigel while physically looking like Harry (as minute as the differences between them are). It will be this dimension’s Hermione and, given who she has just spoken to, then this is quite possibly her alternate self. Her male alternate self.</p><p>Rigel plasters her back to the corridor wall, allowing the egg-yolk sensation of a disillusionment charm wash over her body. For the second time in this adventure, she regrets lending the invisibility cloak to her father for an Auror job. But she hadn’t exactly been expecting to be whisked up and away to another universe, had she?</p><p>The boy that passes her looks both exactly like the pictures she has seen in the newspaper and nothing like him. He has James Potter’s hair but not his height and, unlike Rigel when wearing her true face, he has Lily Potter’s green eyes. Normal green eyes, not magically induced ones like Rigel herself displays whenever the potion she uses to disguise herself ends. They’re almost the same height; Harry perhaps has an inch on her, at most. Hermione looks almost exactly the same too expect- Rigel peers a bit closer, her eyebrows rising up in surprise. This Hermione has had her teeth straightened. Huh.</p><p>“I just feel awkward,” this dimension’s Harry Potter mutters, running a hand through his hair to better expose the famed lightning bolt scar where Voldemort apparently tried to kill him. Rigel tries not to stare too hard, she truly does. After all, it is physical proof that the Lily and James Potter of this world are dead, physical proof that Addy does not exist here.</p><p>Harry Potter and his friend Hermione Granger pass by, none the wiser that Rigel Black had been within feet of them. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>She follows them. What else is there to do other than stand around and see Mr Weasley being carefully cared for by his family, knowing she can help but unable to explain it to the family who would no doubt be suspicious of it all? There’s a perverse sense of curiosity to it all too, to look upon this Harry Potter and wonder what features they share beyond the physical. The one time she reaches out with her magic, brushing it up against his, he doesn’t even react. Doesn’t even notice. It’s pretty easy to conclude that, whatever magical problems have haunted Rigel throughout the entirety of her life, they have not followed this version of her.</p><p>It is easy to see the friendship between Harry and Hermione here, to see that Harry relies on her to be a rock for whatever problems he is dealing with. But it is also discomforting to recognise this Harry doesn’t always have a plan, to the point he seems incapable of planning ahead. There’s something about the picture Harry and Hermione present that makes her feel… insufficient? No, that isn’t right. But it is also not wrong. It is clear Harry trusts Hermione with his life and Rigel, Rigel doesn’t have that complete trust with anyone in her life, not even Archie. There are things she has kept from her cousin too, little though they are, in an attempt to ensure her burdens do not become his also.</p><p>Rigel follows them to the canteen, purchasing an apple for herself to slowly consume as she eavesdrops on the duo, watching them hunch over a table and trade hushed whispers. She’s not too sure who Umbridge is, though the name rings a bell for what feels like all the wrong reasons. The hissed whispers about the Order of the Phoenix (whatever that is) and the fact they’re guarding something is somewhat interesting, but it also feels a little too akin to the SOW Party whispers about the artefact Riddle had wanted to get his hands on. The one that currently resides in her head and has shown no intention of moving out unless she removes the pre-embedded restrictions she placed upon him. If she could even come up with some way of extracting Dom from her head, no matter how useful it is to have another conscious entity protecting her mind, she would.</p><p>Taking another crisp bite from the apple’s flesh, Rigel chews slowly and silently, seated as she is three tables away from Harry Potter and not in his direct line of sight, even though she is currently wearing a disillusionment charm. The charm work is, after all, not infallible. It does grate, having to wait on Riddle to finish putting Rookwood back together enough to extract whatever else the man has used to protect his research; Rigel highly doubts it’s just blood wards protecting those books. Not if they contain the kind of rituals Voldemort used to forcibly extract them from their native world.</p><p>“Rigel, we’re done here.” And of course, there’s Riddle himself, striding into the cafeteria and clearly done with any and all attempts at hiding the fact they’re here from, well, anyone of importance. Like the alternate version of herself.</p><p>Rising to her feet, Rigel allows the notice-me-not to fade from her body, finishing the last of her edible apple before vanishing the core. </p><p>“You have the ritual?” she asks, ruffling the hair at the nape of her neck; the strands are growing just a bit too long now and are beginning to itch whenever she tilts her head just a little too far back. She determinedly ignores the eyes that are suddenly boring into the back of her head, walking over to join Riddle. Rigel doesn’t rush, taking it one step at a time until she’s standing before him, her hands in the pockets of her trousers, the same thin jumper she’d been wearing on their arrival here adorning her torso. Riddle regards her casual clothes (clothes much closer to the standards of the Lower Alleys than to what he is probably used to) with well-practiced disgust; the kind of face that is frozen in a smile so polite it is painfully fake to those who know to look for deception.</p><p>“We will be gone by morning,” Riddle agrees easily, his eyes sweeping around the cafeteria and she can tell the moment he deliberately stops upon Harry Potter, tilting his head ever so slightly to a side. “<em>Then we can get back to sssolving the world’sss problemsss without getting in each other’sss way.</em>”</p><p>“<em>If your moralsss weren’t ssso sssketchy and you hadn’t built a sssoccciety where I’ve had to fight for everything othersss are given, I wouldn’t need to get in your way.</em>” Rigel fires back, unbothered by the way Riddle is continually staring at her counterpart. She won’t allow him to put her off; it’s more important to return home. This world has its own problems that are of an astronomical problem in a very different way to her own (the Fade, the prejudice against muggleborns, the Diary Riddle and everything else that’s happening in the Lower Alleys). Though the want to help here is there, the need to return to her own world is greater. Maybe once she has tied up all the little issues in her own world, once she’s made it through her education and managed to sever the ties Riddle keeps trying to force on her, she might come back here. Even if only to explore and see if any potions discoveries have occurred here and not within her home universe.</p><p>“Excellent. Let’s go, Rigel.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p>“-and he looked just like Tom Riddle but, older.”</p><p>Severus doesn’t quite sneer at Potter, but it is a near thing. Regardless, the last thing he had been expecting to hear when he arrived at the Order’s Headquarters for an emergency meeting had been Potter spewing rabble about spotting a Dark Lord lookalike who spoke Parseltongue, in Saint Mungo’s of all places. A quick glance into the boy’s mind had been all he needed to certify that, as aggravating as he is, Potter hadn’t been making it up.</p><p>The Dark Lord’s alternate self-had indeed been there that morning, and, given the information Potter had been able to comprehend, the man had found a way back to his own universe. Quite frankly, the Dark Lord was exceptionally lucky his alternate self had not taken the kidnapping as a personal attack and decimated him. And he could of done so, with enough effort.</p><p>Severus had seen the duel that’d broken out after the summoning, the way the other (Riddle, he’ll have to address the alternate Voldemort  as Riddle or even he will go mad trying to keep everything straight inside his mind) had effortlessly dealt with the Dark Lord’s rage, showcasing a greater magical ability  than Albus himself had ever demonstrated.</p><p>Then there was the blasted apprentice. Only now do they have a name (Rigel; there is no child with that name to have walked the halls of Hogwarts in at least a hundred years, so clearly the girl was a product of the alternate universe she resided in) and that is after the child had broken into Malfoy Manor and had managed to attack Draco within the walls of his own home. Severus had been the one to find the boy, stuck in place and red in the face from failing to have thought to call a house-elf to his aid. Though why the house-elves hadn’t reacted to an intruder was beyond even Lucius. </p><p>Regardless, the girl had been skilled beyond her years; it was utterly unsurprising that the child was the apprentice of Riddle.</p><p>“They spoke of a ritual and returning?” Severus barks out, watching Potter scowl, <strike>Lily’s eyes</strike> his eyes flashing a warning for his building temper. Little bastard.</p><p>“They said they’d be gone by morning,” the boy grunts, knuckles white as his fists clench. That is all Severus needs to know. While it would have been a… clean solution for the Dark Lord’s alternate self to destroy him, this is hardly the worst outcome. The two disappearing to wherever they came from without causing too much damage (Severus has read about what happened to Rookwood . It goes without saying that the person summoned was indeed an alternate version of the Dark Lord; Augustus will never recover from what was done to him) is far from the best-case scenario, but it does remove the potential threat of a second Dark Lord.</p><p>At this point, Severus will take what he can get.</p><p>Sharing a look with Albus, he can gander that the other is thinking along the same lines as Severus himself. Technically, they have gotten rid of one Dark Lord not long after they realised he was here. </p><p> </p><p>Now they just need to banish the other.</p><p> </p>
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